Of Fathers and Sons
by PerfectMisfit
Summary: Artemis Fowl the first is a less than perfect father and Artemis Fowl the second isn't a model son; between them, the words "I love you" hang unsaid.


**I don't own Artemis Fowl.**

**Of Fathers and Sons**

. . .

The day his son was born, Artemis Fowl Sr. was at a business lunch.

Angeline wasn't due to have the baby until the twenty-eighth and he saw no harm in leaving her alone; there were a dozen servants in the house and there was also the bodyguard he'd hired for his son (one could never be too careful when you were a Fowl); Domovoi Butler. A sturdy, muscular - and from the look of his sharp, steely gaze - a trustworthy young man. Fowl Sr. doubted he would be able to find a better person to trust his son's life with.

So he'd rushed, eager to have a contract signed. He'd been putting off the task for a few days because of Angeline's insistence that he stay with her. The contract was equal to a breakthrough, as far as he was concerned - even though it was illegal, it was sure to rake in millions and that was more than enough to get Fowl Sr. up and running. To be more precise, on that day, Fowl Sr. had been at the _White Dove,_ dining with Adam Farlow - a poor, old and extremely rich fellow who had grown ill and had absolutely no idea that he was signing over his estate and wealth to Fowl Sr.. Farlow had begun to experience symptoms of schzophrenia and under the guise of offering help, Fowl Sr. had managed to dupe him into signing away his property.

It was when he'd spooned some pavlova into his mouth that he felt his phone vibrate. He'd gotten Farlow to sign the contract and he'd made a joke about a golfer (which Farlow barely understood). Slightly irritated, he fished out his phone and answered the call.

"Oh - oh, Timmy, I - I think the baby's coming. . ."

Fowl Sr. would never forget the desperation in his wife's voice.

However, he could not afford to simply leave Farlow and run off. Besides, Butler would probably accompany Angeline and what could possibly go wrong in a hospital? He would go visit her later. Work came first - work stood above everything else. Maybe three years ago when he'd fallen in love with Angeline, he might have disagreed with the idea of work beng given priority, but now. . .but now, it was work that brought in money and it was money that supported their expensive lifestyle. Everything else took a backseat when he began to think about money and ways to procure it.

When he made his way into room 203 of the maternity ward of the Sisters of Mercy hospital that evening, he found Angeline fast asleep and Butler seated beside a crib. Without a second thought - not that he could think about anything else - Fowl Sr. strode over to the white crib and lifted the baby occupying it into his arms. A shrewd child; Fowl Sr. could tell already by the way the baby's bright blue eyes shot wide open and a wail escaped his lips. Instinctively, Fowl Sr. rocked the child gently, trying to coax him back into sleep. At long last, the infant calmed down and Fowl Sr. continued to take in his features.

He could already tell his son would be a splitting image of him.

. . .

"Step on a vine, count to nine,"

Artemis Fowl Jr. was rarely allowed inside his bedroom and Fowl Sr. was glad to see that his two-year-old son did not need to be molly-coddled by his parents. Unlike many other children, Fowl Jr. was well ahead of his age and was capable of five-digit-multiplication despite being a little below two-years-old. He and Angeline had agreed on the fact that Artemis needed to learn how to sleep on his own and much to their pleasure, Artemis had adjusted well to the absence of his parents. For the most part, Fowl Sr. was away and could not spend time with his family. Angeline Fowl would spend her time pining for her husband or playing about with her little Arty (and Fowl Jr. did not enjoy playing very much).

Sometimes, Fowl Jr. would follow his father into his father's bedroom - usually to ask him questions or to practice his vocabulary with his father (he had been taught to call them "mother" and "father" not "mummy" or "daddy"). And when he did step into the splendidly-decorated master bedroom, the one thing that captured his attention was the long rug that covered most of the wooden floor. It had a pattern of vines creeping from each of the four corners that met in an intricate design in the centre. The rug was dyed in bright greens and dull yellows - a tad harsh on the eyes but when viewed from a distance, it seemed somewhat attractive.

One time, Artemis had walked on the rug to reach his mother's bedside.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, he found himself dangling in the air, his father's arms wrapped around his torso. For a two year old, being lifted was usually a pleasure, and inspite of the fact that he was about a decade ahead of any nomral two-year-old, he did enjoy being in his father's arms.

"Step on a vine, count to nine," his father had whispered it into his ear, his tone gentle but slightly commanding.

"Why?"

"To ward off bad luck." His father told him, his tone serious.

And Artemis promptly counted to nine, hoping it would send any bad luck surrounding him far, _far_ away.

. . .

"What are you peruthing?"

Fowl Sr. couldn't help but laugh. His son had just started losing his milk teeth and as a consequence, was forced to put up with a lisp. Although Artemis was more or less at the intellectual level of an adult, it was always amusing - and not to mention endearing - to watch a six-year-old behave like an adult. He reached over and ruffled his son's inky black hair, his smile widening as his son's scowl deepened.

"The Financial Times." Fowl Sr. answered, knowing that his son was being perfectly serious and did not enjoy being kidded with. He lifted his thin, distrubingly frail son into his lap as he couldn't scoot over in his armchair without it being uncomfortable for the both of them and held the paper out in front of Artemis. The pale boy read the tiny print on the newspaper eagerly, his sharp mind processing the infortmation within seconds. Fowl Sr. guided his son's small hand to the price section and traces the row with 'gold' on it with his index finger.

"There is nothing more valauble than gold Arty," His father stated. Artemis nodded solemnly, his keen, blue eyes reading the printed figures. Fowl Sr. could see more and more of himself in Artemis as the boy grew older; the same steely expression, the same confidence and the skill for moneymaking. The same dark hair, the same blue eyes and lean build.

"Do you know why?" His son didn't answer, for a change.

"It's because gold is a necessity among people these days. There's not an awful lot of it but people want it."

"Is there a reason you are telling me this?" His son's tone was polite and ever-so-slightly enquiring.

"Why, of course, Artemis; we - the Fowls - aim to be gold."

"I don't follow." The six-year-old raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Think about it Artemis," his father enunciated every word. "Why wouldn't you want to be rare but valued as far as the business world is concerned? Why wouldn't you want to make as much money as possible, earn the respect of every common man and stand high above all others? We need to be like gold Artemis; rare but respected. Everything else falls, but gold stays steady. And that is because there isn't enough of it. Buy gold boy, and keep it safe."

. . .

"You're leaving, father?" At age ten, Artemis behaved as if he were well into his twenties - so unlike a child. Fowl Sr. nodded and gave his son a quick pat on the shoulder.

"I'm afraid I have to; I should be back in about two or so months." The older man assured him, ruffling his hair affectionately (a gesture that made Artemis scowl; he did not appreciate being treated like a child). A few moments passed in uncomfortable, tense silence before Fowl Sr. pulled his son closer to him and wrapped him in a warm embrace. Artemis stiffened under his father's touch and pulled away almost immediately.

"I trust nothing disastrous will take place while I leave the house in your care," Fowl Sr. joked lightly, although his words did not seem in the slightest bit humourous.

"I look forward to your reaturn, Father." So cold, so harsh, so devoid of emotion. . .Artemis Fowl Sr. suppressed a heavy sigh and gazed sharply into his son's cerulean eyes.

"That makes me glad, Artemis."

A nod was the reply he received.

"Look after your mother while I am gone. And don't let her squander the family fortune, eh?" Another joke that barely struck Artemis as funny. For the second time, Fowl Sr. pulled his son into a hug, feeling rather emotional all of a sudden; he didn't quite want to leave his family, but duty called and his family barely held a candle to work in terms of importance.

Artemis didn't try to pull away form the hug he was enveloped in this time; it only struck him then that he barely knew this man and despite that fact, he continued to call this man his Father. It was science and genetics that bonded them.

It was heredity and law that bound them.

It was all that Artemis needed; love and family ties be damned.

And even though he said that - and he functioned by those laws - Artemis didn't know how much his family meant to him.

It would take a tragedy for him to know.

. . .

He'd come back from a tiresome day at school - honestly, how hard was long division? To a mind as great as his own, it was - at the risk of using colloqial phrases - a piece of cake. It was shocking how people in his class could actually make errors with such a easy concept. He'd come back home in the Fowl Bentley and anticipated relaxing that evening with a psychology journal when something else had captured his attention.

The _Fowl Star _was all over the news, the image of the gigantic ship swallowed by flames and drowning rapidly in the Bay of Kola was on about every news channel Artemis switched to. It was shocking, to say at the very least. In addition, there seemed to be more attention devoted to the damage done to the Fowl Star than his father's whereabouts. His father's bodyguard had been declared dead, after his body had been found (after a gruelling, seven-hour search).

Artemis Fowl Sr.'s current location remained unknown.

Much to Artemis' extreme frustration.

The first thing he ahd to do was secure his father's - no their - finances. He would have to send out search parties soon - you could never rely on government search teams and it was likely that the Russian Mafia was involved in this incident; challenging the Russian Mafia was suicidal idea and it would probably be better for the government to simply declare his father dead.

He would not give up.

He _could _not give up.

He would think of a way - something, anything - to get his father out of this. The prospect of growing up without a father - not that he would ever admit it - scared him. The situation was similar to a crushing weight against his chest; it was suffocating him, leaving him weary and tired. It made him want to give up and pushed him forward at the same time.

Butler had been sympathetic about the whole event - he'd even offered to let Artemis take the next few days off school (which Artemis had denied; he was a Fowl and he had appearances to maintain). Much to his worry, his mother hadn't taken his father's disappearance well at all; not that anybody would take their spouse going missing well.

"I told him not to go." She screeched, her voice shrill and piercing in Artemis' ears. "I knew. . .I knew. . I wish h-he'd listened. . ." And from shrill and almost frightening, she transformed to pitiful and fragile, collapsing to the carpeted floor. Her knees sank into the plush rug and tears spilled out of her eyes uncontrollably. "What if he d-doesn't come back? W-what if. . ."

"Mother, you need to calm down." His voice was firm, but underneath it's solid exterior existed a layer of shakiness.

"Arty. . .Arty, are you my Arty?" She'd seemed hopeful at first, believing the person in front of her was her son, then her demeanor switched to paranoid and edgy. Artemis chewed on his lip uncertainly; he'd always known what to do when a situation pressurised him, but now - but now, what was there that he could do? Would money, would gold bring his mother's sanity back? Would it make her well again?

"I am Artemis." He answered carefully, stepping forward and letting his mother hold him tightly against her.

"You _are_ Arty. . .Arty, Arty, please don't leave me Arty - not like your father. . ." Her slender hands finding their way into his hair. He allowed himself to relax in her grip - he'd already asked Juliet to send for the doctor and as long as it helped his mother to not bring the entire house down with her wailing, he didn't particularly mind being hugged by her.

"I will find him, Mother." To anyone else, it may have seemed like a silly promise from a ten-year-old to his Mummy made out of sheer depseration and an intense desire to see his father again. Only to someone who knew Artemis Fowl the Second well enough would the determination, the resolution in his voice have been clear.

"Whatever it takes mother; I will find him."

. . .

**I would really appreciate reviews and concrit (please avoid mentioning the OOC because I already know about that ^^). Artemis is hard to characterise and I struggled a lot with that; it's like, there's a lot of sides to his personality and one of them pops up at different situations - there's calculative Artemis, mellow Artemis, arrogant Artemis, defensive Artemis and a lot more****. Also, I haven't written for this fandom before, so maybe that's also why I struggled with characterising Artemis. . .but reviews will definitely be appreciated~! And I'll give virtual cookies too :P.**


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